


Breath of their Wild

by Donnieambie_Dawn



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, But mostly angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Tried, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Medical issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Somebody fix my joycons please, Vio and Red have some heckin beef, Warnings May Change, first multi chapter fic, im hopping on the flower crown train yall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donnieambie_Dawn/pseuds/Donnieambie_Dawn
Summary: “Joy con drift is a chronic disease that impairs the nervous and muscular systems, making limbs twitch and move without neurological prompting. It affects every one in every 35,000 babies, symptoms starting in late childhood as just a twitch, and ending with the patient unable to control any part of their body. Other symptoms include muscle weakness, sleep apnea, difficulty walking in a straight line or to a set point, and numbness in the limbs. 70% of all JCD patients die of respiratory failure as the body stops breathing and cannot restart. The disease progresses with age, surgical treatment is a very expensive risk, and no known cure has been found as of yet.”- Dr.Joy Connaitre of The Hyrulean Disease and Wellness FoundationEDIT: STORY IS OFF HIATUS! NEXT UPDATE COMING SOON! :D
Comments: 46
Kudos: 218





	1. The little things

Wild held his hands out in front of him. It was just a carrot, he could pick up a carrot, easy peasy.

He reaches for the carrot and picks up a radish instead. He could barely feel the smooth skin of the vegetable under the buzzing in his fingertips. Pins and needles etched into the grooves of his hand, feeling receding. The radish slips from his grasp.

Right. Well…

The carrot. Wild stretches his fingers, but they only uncurl to half their length. They hover over the carrot, and press down weakly. When he wills movement his thumb gives a halfhearted twitch. 

Wild wasn’t left handed. He doesn't know if that was always the case, but when he stepped into the unknown, there was a spindly branch in his right palm, and there were many more weapons to be held there. He reaches for a knife with his left hand anyways, and abandons the carrot entirely. It was fine, the soup wasn’t nearly hot enough to add the stupid carrots anyways.

He drops the radish on a piece of wood, one foot by one foot long, unpolished and ragged but without splinters. It was a pale rainbow splash of juice stains and elixir ingredients, little grooves were carved into the sides for decoration. He shakilly traces his finger over an indent, just to feel it, and readies his knife.

The slices were a bit choppier than usual, too thick and uneven, but they were cut. He seizes the chunks with too fast fingers to dump them into the cooking pot, his arm cringing, flinging bits of pink into the air.

No no no, this was NOT happening. Not now. 

The tree on the other side of camp was pelted with produce, globs of what should have been dinner all over the ground in front of him. His arm repeats the motion, his wrist curling as if there was more food to ruin. His other arm fought to stop it. He wrestled with himself, a one man struggle. 

Why did this have to happen now, of all times. A flare up while cooking?

“Wild? Are you okay?” Time, in his timeless tranquility, had a wrinkled brow and a crossed face. 

Wild stares into the one drowned eye and shivers. The shiver turned into a shake, and his arm cramped up again. “Yeah, everything’s okay.” Quick! Think of something! “I just saw a spider on my hand and freaked out.”

“You’re clutching your arm.” 

“Just.” Wild’s voice relaxes, and so too did the attack cease. “It’s fine.”

“Alright.”

Time went to sit on the log he previously occupied, watching cordially. Four and Legend bickered on, about fairies or something, while Hyrule looked horrified the seat over. Warriors probably hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and Wind was languidly staying stuck in his hold, Sky thoroughly entertained. A wolf ate the radish remains at the edge of camp.

Wild looks into the now ruined soup, dumps it out, and starts a new pot.

***

The second time he flares up is later that night. 

Wild dishes out the soup to hungry mouths at an ungodly hour. He apologises for the delay, but most everyone is just grateful to have food (Except Warriors who was still asleep, and Legend who is never happy). 

He laughs at the sight of Wind being fed by Sky, Wind’s arms trapped in a comatose confinement. “It’s not funny!” He whines, just quiet enough to keep Warriors asleep. Eventually the novelty wears off, and conversations are started anew.

“So, the weather?” Hyrule is ignored.

“Four was talking to me about fairies today.” Legend pipes up and takes a thick bite of carrot soup. There is a long, wet silence as everyone waits for him to swallow and continue his story. “And I want your insight, so riddle me this!” Another bite. “How much do you think a fairy can heal? Like, if someone’s got a fracture, I know fairies can fix that, like, instantly. But what about diseases like ALS, or cancer? Does a fairy know how to fix that? Does a fairy even know that there’s a problem?”

“ I - what is cancer?” Hyrule is ignored again.

“I told you!” Four set his bowl down to gesture with both hands. “ Those types of diseases are impossible for _low_ level faires to cure, but _theoretically_ , a great fairy should be able to cure at least cancer, _but_ the amount of magical radiation needed to get rid of cancer gives them a higher chance of getting _more cancer_ . And that doesn't even account for the weakened state they’d be left in. And _that_ doesn't even count ALS!”

“What’s aye-el-esse?” Shut up Hyrule.

“There’s no cure for ALS Four, only treatment.” 

“You weren’t even talking about neurological diseases earlier! You were talking about giving yourself a concussion, tearing your arm off and crushing your then amputated fingers.”

Four crosses his arms and Hyrule plugs his ears like a child.

“I’m on the same page as Hyrule. Does anyone know what the hell these two aristocrats are talking about?” Twilight drawls.

“Just give me a fairy and I’ll figure this out?” Legend jokingly pleads with a smile.

“There’s no need.” Hyrule withdrew his fingers from his ears. “Fairies can only patch skin and weave bone and muscle. We can’t fix minds, which is a shame, really.” He glares at Legend, insinuating the obvious. 

“Did you say _we_?” Four asks Hyrule.

Legend threw his hands up in mock offense “Hey! Uncalled for.”

“Your face is uncalled for.”

“Guys, he just said _we_.”

And as Four was ignored, Hyrule took his place, arguing with Legend about this and that, the rest of the Links sure to follow suit. 

Wild blinks at his hands, and his hands give a blink back. Thick soup ran in his lap, over his legs and boots; the bowl was abandoned on the ground.The startled cries of his group were awash in a sea of carrot shavings, and he was drowning in the curd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall. This'll be my first multi chapter fic ever, so sorry if updates are a little sporadic. I'll try to update every week, but I don't have these pre- written. Yall notify me of any spelling errors and the like, they just go over my head. :)


	2. Sticks and stones may cause flare ups that bring irreversible damage to the body, but words hurt too, y'know?

The clash of iron on iron was the morning bell that had Wild scrambling out of his bedroll and into consciousness. He grabs the gerudo scimitar kept under his pillow for emergencies, and dashes into the woods to the sounds of battle. 

“Hello Wild.”

“Good morning Wild!”

“We got crepes from the mailman, you want any? They’re from Sky’s Zelda.” Warriors approaches him with a keen eye, and holds out a plain looking wooden box. “Where are your pants?”

“What?” is all Wild manages to say before a sword embeds itself in the grass with a * _shink*_ , right by his left foot. 

His groggy mind sends him stumbling backwards, tripping over a tree root and falling into a nearby thornbush. He curses the goddess.

“Yeowch, but that’s not something you say to somebody that made you crepes.” Warriors helps Wild out of the bush and holds him up so that his legs barely touch the floor. 

“Medic!” 

As Hyrule wanders over, the owner of the sword revealed himself to be Wind, an uneasy Four right behind him.

“Wild! Are you Okayyyy.... Where are your pants?” Wind pulled the sword from the earth with a grunt of exertion, and Wild pushes away the airy feeling of deja vu that meant he still had more to learn about himself. “I’m sorry about the sword… Four and I were just sparring, honest!” 

Four nods his head. “Those are some ugly cuts.”

Indeed they were. Alongside the blood trails, split a spattering of bruises and a powdery yellow substance. Hyrule hustles in with the medical kit. “Sit him down.” He orders, Warriors gladly obliging. 

Hyrule takes a look at the injury and smiles. “This isn’t serious; you probably could have avoided this if you just wore pants today.”

Wild rolls his eyes. “I thought… I heard a fight and I went to war. I thought I slept through another camp raid.”

“Fair enough, I guess.” Hyrule opens the med kit and pulls out a box that read “ _LEGEND”_ in bold letters of red paint. Wild remembers Hyrule making this box, a few weeks ago. “For idiots that don’t wear pants while hiking.” Hyrule had said. Wild had laughed along while Legend was sat down like a child, and he made a note in his head to apologise to Legend as soon as possible. 

“Is that yellow stuff magical?” Warriors asks.

Hyrule swipes the powder onto his fingers and gives it a lick. “No, it’s just pollen.”

“Hyrule, what? Actually you know what? I’m not getting into this. Come to me if you want some breakfast.” And with that, Warriors left the conversation, taking the delicious box of raspberry crepes with him.

Wild remembered the last time he had crepes. He was in Twilight’s town and had the pleasure of working for a vendor’s stall. He had only done it because he was bored, but the sticky treats and extra rupees were definitely a bonus! Mmm, crepes… 

“Alright, you’re okay, just don’t do that again.”

Wild looks down to see clean legs and a single thin wrap on his ankle, where a particularly nasty cut was settled.

Alright, breakfast time. Wild stands up and gives a “Thank you!” to Hyrule, before setting his sights on Warriors. He is motionless, sitting on a log halfway across the clearing, his posture sunken inward like a dying houseplant.

Wild breaks into a run. “Hey Warriors! Did she include a recip-” His ankle stings a bit, then jolts, causing him to faceplant on the ground. He spits out a frothy clod of dirt, gritty sand and a small pebble. He’s going to need something extra strong to get that taste out.

“Woah Wild… 2 in a row?” Warriors, who was suddenly right above Wild, reaches out to him to help him up. Wild missed. 

He grabs a little to the left, then the right, before Warriors took his hand for him, brain whirring with unpleasant thoughts and theories. “ Sweet Hylia, Wild do you need glasses?”

“glasses?” 

“Yeah, to help you see better.”

“I’m good.” Wild says with strain in his voice. He is perfectly fit (forever thanks to the shrine), but he’s sure Warriors didn’t mean to insult him.

Warriors wipes his hands on his pants before reaching into the crepe box. He pulls out a particularly golden one, with honey glaze and sugar granules. “Here’s your breakfast, future four-eyes.”

And before he can reach out for it, Warriors grabs his hand and places the glazed pastry into his palm, giving him a concerned, faraway look. “You’re seeing a doctor, champion.” He says before briskly leaving, probably off to hoard the rest of the food.

Left standing there, Wild put his hand to his mouth (to the best of his ability) to quietly eat his breakfast. There were no problems with his jaw yet, thank Hylia. Last time his jaw locked up, it took two surgeries and a four month recovery period on tube food before he could speak a single word. In his boredom, he had picked up the ancient art of sheikan sign language, and now that he’s traveling with some less verbose, stressed adventurers, he’s glad he did.

Wild finishes the rest of his crepe and goes to wipe his hands on his pants, before he realizes that he isn't wearing any. He licks the honey off. Honestly? It's a pretty fair day out. He might wear shorts.

The watchful eyes of Warriors bores holes into the back of his head.

“Hey Wild!” Wind calls out to him, Four left panting in the background. “You wanna spar? Bet I can break your sword!”

Wild agrees. “Oh you’re on, boat boy!”

“NO!”

Warriors, with his arms outstretched and eyes frantic, stares down the duo. The other Links look back, but their attention is fleeting, and soon they are back to their wood-whittling and chores, and other pressing activities.

Wind pouts, fractious and itching for a fight. “Give me _one_ good reason why.” His face scrunches up into one of his classic hyper expressive grimaces.

If half his face wasn’t scar tissue, Wild would’ve been able to mirror it perfectly, maybe even stronger than Wind’s. A good reason _better_ be given. Wind is just as much of a hero as anyone else in their party, and Wild knows how hard Wind has worked to prove himself.

“Just trust me, Sailor. No more spars today? A conscientious expression adorns his face, as if pleading with him. Wind holds his face tight for a minute longer, branch-sword rapping along the ground in an irritated rhythm. He relents to the advice of his older brother.

Wind drops his branch and abruptly turns on his heel, walking away. “If I can’t fight, I’ll just make others do it for me.” he says in true pirate fashion.

Wind stops and turns again, slower this time. “Wild, you wanna fight Legend? He’s been in a bad mood recently and no one knows why. Maybe you can help him let off some steam? I mean, I don’t know what was in that letter he got, but…”

Wild shifts his attention as Warriors places a hand on his shoulder.

“...and he doesn't want to talk about it even though he looks like he's been pulled in the drink and marooned on…”

Wild makes eye contact with Warriors, who gives an apologetic expression before looking to Wind. 

“... but I don’t know if that will help, though. And-”

“Sailor.”

Wind stops rambling, and Warriors takes a deep, calming breath. 

“Wild- he can’t- he’s been..” His tongue flounders, grasping at words. “Wild can’t fight right now; it’s a _high and dry_ plight.”

Wind flashes through expressions. Shock at the nautical term and ire at the order, confusion moves across his eyes at the foreboding statement before acceptance finally sets in. “Fine.”

Wild shoves Warriors’ hand off his shoulder rather roughly. _‘Can’t fight?’_ He signs with force. So that ‘No!’ was meant for him then. Wild starts to grow irrationally angry as his emotions swell up, but there is no electricity dancing between his fingertips to remind him to calm down.

“It’s nothing against you, Wild. It’s just that…” Warriors eyes look to the canopies as he tries to think of some excuse that makes sense.

_‘Branches not dangerous.’_ Wild signs. ‘ _Eyes, fine.’_

Warriors grows uncomfortable under the shorter man’s gaze. “Your eyes _do_ need checking, Wild. I’m pretty sure you’ve never seen a doctor in your life.”

_‘Healthy.’_ Wild’s eyes are burning with indignation.

“I’m not so sure… your movements…” Warriors jaw stays open, contemplating something that wouldn’t offend their recently jumpy hero. “You fell twice, and the soup last night… you would never spill good food like that.” Warriors is nervous. Wild can see it in his shaky lips and hear it through his hesitant voice. “I- I mean- I’m no medical professional, but, I- AAAH!”

Wild slaps him, face red hot and rage boiling in his throat. His hand, still in the air by Warriors head, moves down to sign. ‘ _H-E-A-L-T-H-Y’_

Warriors holds his head up to keep his feelings in, he was a captain. Captains did not cry when slapped, not even by family members. “No you’re not.” He blinks the tears away, but they somehow move to his throat, and he chokes on his own sentiment. “Wild, I saw you... When you cooked. I haven’t told anyone else, but I need you to be honest with me here.”

Warriors tries to take Wild’s palms in his, but Wild pulls them away, not wanting to be touched. Warriors pretends to not be hurt. 

_‘M-I-P-H-A’_ Wild looks crossed between livid and heartbroken. He looks forlorn when he signs the next few words. _‘She heals. Always heals. Never sick. H-E-A-L-T-H-Y.’_

“Wild…”

_‘M-I-P-H-A here. Still here. With me. With me always. Never sick.”_

“Maybe she was with you in your Hyrule, but…

_‘Here! Here! Always! Never forgotten! I fight for hyrule, I fight! Never useless! Not a failure! Fighting! Fighting G-A-N-O-N. With Champions. With M-I-P-H-A!’_

Oh. Warriors had struck _that_ chord. He tries to reassure him. “Wild, the Calamity wasn’t your fault.”

Wild’s pupils dilate, and suddenly Warriors is staring into the face of a feral animal. He should _not_ have pressed. He should have just let Wild fight Wind, and fall down again. Maybe they could’ve gotten a laugh out of it. But Warriors was so scared that Wild would be hit, and ragdoll and fall and not get up. Muscles would lock into place and eyes would go half-lidded, and the chest would grow heavier and heavier until it was paralyzed, and he’d be twelve again, looking into the unfocused eyes of his father as he slowly turned blue. His mother would cry in the corner and his uncle would mutter under his breath and his sister wouldn’t be there to say goodbye because she had stopped breathing months ago and-

A hand on his shoulder makes him flinch, and suddenly he is twenty two, and crying into the shoulder of the hero of time: the hero he had aspired to be. It should have been his dad on that pedestal, not a mythical man he had only met recently. His eyes crease as he closes them harder. He shouldn’t fucking cry over this, they were all long gone,but Wild…

He snaps his eyes open, blurry vision rapidly darting around for Wild’s figure. He, he needed early treatment. For the longest life possible, like… like his father. Aryll had hidden her symptoms, and she was only nine. She was only nine and Wild was technically younger. Two years since he had left the shrine. Two years of real memories. Only two. Only two. Only-

A hand rubs circles on his back, a soothing, paternal gesture. “Breathe, Captain, Breathe.”

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe! Wild couldn’t breathe! Wild was going to die! He wasn’t here! He wasn’t breathing! He wasn’t- He wasn’t-

Warriors breath grows fleeting and erratic as he starts to hyperventilate. Sky can tell that he’s trying to sign something, but his hands are shaking too hard to make out a single sign. In the distressed crowd around him he tries to make out a certain form, but the boy in blue is nowhere to be seen. 

“Alright! Back it up!” Wind stands with his arms outstretched, creating a barrier to block the crowd out. Wind wasn’t the blue clad hero he had hoped for, but he was definitely the best call for getting Wild’s location. 

“Wind.” Sky gets down on one knee, to meet Wind’s eyes. Sky tries not to cringe when a particularly loud wail from Warriors graces his ears. It was less of a sound, and more of an emotion. An anguished cry, like that of a particular lame baby loftwing he had heard, abandoned on the cliff-side. Sky had tried to follow the cries, to find and raise the hatching, but his poor stamina found him idling too much, and by the time he had found the baby blue bird, it was too late. “Wind.” Sky got his attention again.

Wind lets his guard drop, and fear for his brother graces his features. 

“Where is Wild.” 

“He called for Wolfie and they left for CaMp.” Wind does not stutter, but his voice cracks before he can stop himself.

Sky stands up and takes one last glance at the sobbing mess that is the hero of Warriors, before walking as calmly as he could, towards the campsite. 

Wild had some fucking explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna start updating sooner cuz I got so many ideas for this fic, but my life got real busy real recently. I'm most definitely updating once a week at least though, don't worry bout that.
> 
> But AAAHHHH! The plot is going by so slooowww. I want to dive right into that main angst, but I need to set it up first.
> 
> Let me know of any grammar issues and the like so I can edit later :)
> 
> Edit: I have to postpone this one update guys, my real life comes before my fanfics and it's gotten a little crazy this week :/


	3. Flooding, flowers, and Four

When Wolfie opens his eyes, he sees blue.

The sun peeks shyly from behind a small hill, casting navy shadows behind birch trees and lighting the water a shiny teal. Mist swirls in with the morning, coalescing into fat dewdrops that threaten to swallow any stray mosquitoes or other flighty pests. The only sound for miles is the low electronic buzz of the activated shrine, drips of the early morning, and his Cub’s own heavy breathing.

He sits back on his haunches and watches as Cub runs across the bridge and vaults himself over the wall of what used to be a hylian house. 

The staccato cry of a lizalfos overrun with electricity pierces the silent morning air, and Wolfie lowers himself to the ground completely, head resting on paws still prickly from teleportation. The sounds of battle dominate the drowsy mumbles of the shrine, and soon the sounds of death and pain are there to welcome a new dawn. He closes his eyes, content in the moment.

“FUCK IT ALL!”  _ Xinn~~ BOOM! Xinn~~ BOOM! Xinn~~  _ “AAAGGGH!” _ BOOM! _

He can feel the displaced water from the bombs on his snout and fur. He gets up to shake it off, and comes to the conclusion that maybe he’ll have to be the one to pull Cub from his temper tantrum.

“BARK!” Wolfie yelps, to his feet in an instant. “BARK! BARK!” 

This seems to snap Cub out of his reverie-like fit, if only for a second. Cub’s arm twitches, then his whole torso contorts as he spins around to meet the eyes of the beast. He looks away and widens his stance, enraged and confused all the while. 

“FUCK YOU!” Cub falls to his knees, unsure if he’s cursing out Warriors, his condition, or Hylia her goddess damn self. Maybe it was all three at once. He sinks lower, hands in the lakebed and pants soaked in night chilled water. “AAAGHHHHH!” 

Wolfie is calm, and Cub has his head so low he might be making an attempt to drown himself. How did his life become this hectic?

He remembers darkness and light, orange hair and broken mirrors, and chooses not to linger on the past. Instead, he gives a lick to Cub’s exposed cheek, fully rooted in the present. Cub breaks down in the water, arms wrapping around Wolfie’s figure as he cries over everything and anything. 

Wolfie licks his cheek again, he’ll always be there for his cub. 

Cub’s grip intensifies, then grows lax. He falls into the water face first, bubbles rising from lungs drowned in shallow water. 

Cub’s arms pull to his chest in painful contortions, and Wolfie can hear every shift of bone on joints, every snapping ligament and pulsing muscle and disturbed wave as he seizes in the open water.

Wolfie grabs Cub’s collar and stumbles to the shore. Red water bubbles off the front of Cub’s shirt, his eyes half lidded and veering into his skull. Unlike his frantic upper body, his legs are dead weight, making it harder to drag Cub to relative safety. 

A noise resonates within Cub’s throat, unrecognisable. 

Wolfie sets Cub down on his back, and jumps on his chest with his front paws. Whatever magic that “aheembo” rune uses, it’s powerful, and he won’t be able to transform back for a long time. This is the best cpr he can give him. 

Cub’s gurgling intensifies, choking on the fountain of blood and water in his mouth, before he coughs up a lung full of water. Wolfie leans him to his side the best he can, but Cub’s flailing is making it difficult. The gush of fluid leaves his mouth and spills white hot and salty into his nose, where it churns and makes his head sting before leaving for his already waterlogged lungs. 

Despite Twilight’s best efforts, Wild continues to choke. 

\---

The morning is old and orange, the fire rod burning dim in contrast to the sky, patchy but visible through the canopy above them. 

“Do it again!” Wind smiles, almost maniacally, as Legend rolls his eyes and spins warm embers around them. They compliment the amber of the autumn leaves, and the brown ash floats in the breeze at peace.

Or, at least it did.

Wind pulls his windwaker to his hand and flicks back it with enough force to blow embers right into an unassuming Four’s face.

“Aah! What the heck!”

Wind snickers to himself, and despite efforts to keep neutral, Legend feels a smile slip from his shell. 

“Now do the seasons!”

In one smooth motion, Legend clips the fire rod to his belt and throws his hands behind his head, lax and carefree. “I can’t. Not until we find a stump, at least. And anyways…” Legend smirks devilishly, and for a split second, Wind can see might of Ganondorf in his eyes. “I don’t want to.”

“But Leeeggggeeenndddd!” Wind whines, wanting his way. “You gotta!” 

Legend and Wind hold a gaze as long as they can, before Wind trips on a tree root on the crusts of the path. 

“Stupid fucking motherfucker, ass tree st…” Wind mumbles as he shoves dirt off his tunic, still kneeling in the dry earth. Legend, ever so uncaring, comes to help.

He offers his palm, but Wind does not take it. Instead, he stares at the ground, enchanted. Before Legend can ask what the fuck he’s doing, Wind carefully scoops up a layer of topsoil. He holds it out to Legend, as if he was presenting a newborn and not a literal handful of dirt. What?

“What the fuck?” Legend says.

“change the seasons…” Wind whispers, pointing to the stump of the guilty tree. “make it spring.”   
  


Wind’s expression goes from seagull soft to serious in a series of seconds. He hardens his expression and Legend knows that this is not a request. This is a command. 

Legend pulls out the rod of seasons and stands on the stump. Wind, in that moment, reminded him of his uncle, oddly enough. He widens his stance. Always caring, with a soft but stern voice. He lifts the rod to the skies and readies the magic needed. He wishes Uncle was still here. He swings the rod.

The air is frigid. Snowflakes tumble onto frosted leaves and the world is a calming white. Winter-

“FUCKING WARN SOMEONE NEXT TIME!”

“Sorry, Four!” 

He swings the rod again.

Summer is the season of energy. He breathes deeper, and thinks clearer just from existing in its presence. He thinks of long walks on the beach and red hair. It's always been his favorite season…

He can hear Four mumble about the lack of warning, but in his peripherals he can see him bask in a stray ray of sunshine, in a futile attempt to recover from winter’s pass. Hyrule towers above him, stealing the heat for himself, much to Four’s chagrin.

He gives a warning this time. “Alright! Allergy season next!”

Swinging the rod for the fourth time that day, nature gives way to the whim of magic, and the energy that was so rich in spring is drained from. Like a sapling leaching from the earth, the flora around them grow to their fullest potential. The bark on trees grows thicker, moss fuller. Ferns unfurl and the gentle hum of the fairy returns to the subconscious, as flowers spill their colors and return, gracefully to reality.

In his hands, Wind holds a plant, red and orange flowers cascading down his palms. He turns from Legend, still kneeling.

“Hey Time!”

Time stood still. “Yes, Wind?” 

“Is it okay if we stop for a bit? I fell and hurt my ankle.”

Using the same sleight of hand Legend had seen Wind use with the windwaker, Wind crushes a red flower and smears the faux-blood on his heel, making it appear flushed. With a slight grunt of pain, he brings it to the front and sits on the ground. “See?”

“I can carry you, if you want.”

Ignoring the solution offered to him by the literal hero of time, his hero since childhood and he could, he was so close this was so awesome! No. No, he had a plan, and he was going to follow through.

“Yeah, yeah just let me…” He gets up, and Legend watches his heel give out, rolling to the side. “AAH!” Wind falls, a little too dramatically. “Oh! I think I rolled it!” Tears prick from the corners of his eyes, and even Time grows a little unsteady on his feet, however fake the act is. “I don’t want to jostle it. Can’t we stop? Just for a bit?” 

Time is unimpressed, but relents. “Alright. Everyone! 10 minute break!” He yells up the path. 

“Yes!” Wind shoots up, forgetting that his ankle is supposed to be sprained, and runs to the nearest bush, rummaging through its flowery contents.

“Why are we stopping?” Four asks, annoyance shining in his azure eyes.

Sky leans against Hyrule, dead on his feet. “I don't care.” Sky says, collapsing to the ground. “My poor legs.” 

“You act like you’ve never taken a hike before.” 

“And you can't fly to save your life! Have at thee!” Sky takes Hyrule by the wrist and pulls him down to the ground, where they lay in a colorful giggle pile. 

Flowers crown their heads and grass sprouts up from the edges of their bodies as Legend pushes his ability to the max.

”Hey Warriors.” 

Wind is suddenly right next to him, a wreath of pinks and whites in his hands. 

“I’m really  _ really _ sorry about your thing...” He talks like a child. Like Aryll. “So I made you this!” 

He holds out a flower crown, fashioned with daisies and roses. “I took out the thorns.” He says, before smiling the contagious smile of a free spirit.

Aryll used to love flower crowns. He starts to tear up.

“Warriors?! Don't cry!” Wind hugs him tightly. “We can do something else if you want!” 

“N- no. I love it. Wind t-thank you.” He takes the now half crushed flower crown from Wind’s grasp, and sets it on his head. Petals cascade down his front and pile on his back, as the crown falls apart. 

“Noooo… I worked so hard on it.” 

Shoving away the bitterness of nostalgia, Warriors pulls Wind into a noogie. “Don't worry! We can make a new one! You know how to double layer them?”

Wind shakes his head in a no. His hair sticks up at odd angles, almost defying gravity in its fluffiness. 

“Double layering them makes the crown stronger, I used to do it all the time as a kid.” He sits with his legs crossed, and pats his thigh. “Why don't you grab some more flowers and come over here? I’ll teach you!” 

Wind beams, and dashes off to the nearest flower patch. “Ok! Be right back!”

Warriors watches Wind run off, almost skipping every third step. He plucks the stems carefully, with his thumb and middle finger out, and inspects them with all the seriousness of a botanist, whos about to cure a deadly disease. 

It reminds him of Aryll, but this time, the memory makes him smile. Wind runs back with a bouquet, and sits down in Warriors lap. “I’m ready!”

“Okay, so first you have to fold…”

\---

They’d been sitting on the roadside for what seemed an hour, but Time always said they had five more minutes. 

The sun was low in the sky. Liar. 

But Wind was having fun with Warriors, who was smiling for once, and Sky looked content under his tree,and even Legend seemed to be having a good time, so Hyrule couldn't fault Time.

But he could get hungry. 

He looks at the flower crown that Four had gifted him, then looks at Four. He’s sitting a few spin attacks away, not paying attention to anything besides the intricate floral braid he’s weaving. Hyrule notices Four absentmindedly chewing on a piece of his long hair, and stifles his laugh. 

He wants no attention on himself.

Putting the flower crown to his lips, he takes a bite.

-crunch- 

That was loud. Alarmed, he looks around, but it seems no one has noticed…

Except Four.

They make eye contact, and without breaking it, Hyrule starts to chew the bite he’s taken out of reflex.

Four puts his braid down, and signs. 

_ ‘What?’ _

Hyrule,already busted, swallows and takes another bite (-crunch-) before signing back. 

_ ‘Hungry.’ _

_ ‘W-h-a-t?’ _

_ ‘Hungry.’ _

He takes another bite (-crunch-), and the flower crown becomes a flower crescent.

Four can only stare. The hair is spit out of his mouth as he glances at his braid, contemplating something.

_ ‘Edible?’  _ Four signs.

_ ‘Yes.’  _

Well, he  _ is  _ hungry. 

Four eyes him warily before taking a bite of his own flower braid. 

-CRUNCH- 

People turn heads. Warriors stops weaving. Wind stops laughing. Sky wakes up from his daydream. Legend and Time are both expressionless. Suddenly all eyes are on him. 

“Are you…” Sky points out.

“Is that…” Legend trails off.

“...” Wind just gapes.

“If wafsn’t my ifdea!” Four uses one hand to cover his full mouth and the other to point to Hyrule, who has no evidence on him.

“Hyrule doesn't even have a crown.”

Four swallows his slightly bitter bite, ashamed of his actions. “That’s because he ate it!”

“Did he...  _ make _ you to do this?” Time arcs a brow.

“Yes! Well, no… but maybe!” Four’s red eyes match his cheeks as he starts to blush. “I’ll eat anything at this point! When have we last eaten again? Yesterday morning?”

The mood sombers as the troupe is reminded of their star cook’s disappearance. Wild was truly gone. He wasn't in the area around camp, or ahead or anywhere, really, no matter how hard they looked. Time said that Twilight had gone off to look for him, but that just meant another hero had left them. Another friend could be in danger. Warriors breathing hitched.

This will not do. Sky hugged Warriors tightly, grounding him. “Remember that everyone is safe.” 

“Okay!” Wind gets up from Warriors lap and walks in the middle of the group. “Let's make something then! It’s already late out.” He points to the dimming sky. “And we’ve got a nice area here.” He gestures to the flat plot of land that was cleared with the rod of seasons. “So let's get cooking!” 

He rummages through the “communal kitchen” bag, and holds up a ladle and some cheese.

“We’ve got the stuff. You don't need to eat roses anymore, Four.” Wind pats Four’s head as he walks past, dropping the cheese into his lap, and Four sends a glare in Hyrule’s direction. 

Hyrule plucks a daisy from the ground and eats it. Nobody notices.

Four bites the cheese. “I'fe got my efye fon you…” Four says in muffled displeasure. 

“Legend! Can you help me with the fire?” Wind gestures to the fire rod with his ladle.

“Ah-Ah-Ah.” Legend waves a finger in Wind’s face. “Bambino, what’s the one rule we have about fires?” 

Wind rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever, I’ll get the stupid rocks.”

“Sky, can you go with him?”

“Sure thing.”

“Hey War? Come over here and help me set up the pot. Time? Go find some forest food or whatever. Hyrule… you’re our morale booster. Stay here.” Legend orders, confident that he’s given everyone a job.

The group disbands: Wind and Sky to the east for fire pit materials, Time to the west for food, and Warriors to the far edges of their roadside camp, to help set up the cooking pot with Legend, trailing right behind him. 

Four sits next to Hyrule, and nudges him not so subtly. 

“Yeah?”

“The flower thing.” He stares at Hyrule, like Hyrule is supposed to know what Four wants from him.

“What about it?”

“OK-ay.” Four huffs, hand on his face to rub his temples. “The ‘ _ we’  _ thing. The thing with the pollen. You’ve just eaten a  _ violet  _ nightshade flower crown, not a blue one. I’m embarrassed that I didn’t catch  _ that _ earlier, let alone now.” Four scrutinizes Hyrule’s brown eyes with his own deep amethysts, and says in a crisp whisper. “What are you?” 

_ What are you? _

_ The blood of the hero dwells in your veins! _

_ What are you? _

Hyrule looks… hurt? His eyes widen and start to gloss over, his mouth agape with an answer, stuck in his throat. Hyrule brings his knees to his chest, and shuts Four out.

“Nonono! Hy! Look at me.” Four grabs Hyrule’s cheeks, and he is forced to gaze into his ruby pools. Tears blur the edges of his vision, but he can see the color change, clear as day.  _ What are you? _ He wants to snap back. Instead he stifles a shudder, and looks to the battle in Four’s eyes. Left eye violet, Right eye red, the colors battle each other for dominance of the iris.

“I’m sorry for what I sai- I’m not- and I really am- want to know- please forgi- awnser me-?

The sentence makes no sense, whichever way he tries to reword it, and Four is starting to scare him. His left side is now apathetic, and his right side his apologetic. His lips are half parted, half shut. Both eyes blink, but seconds apart. 

However hurt Hyrule is, he’ll put aside all differences to help a friend. 

“Four. Four, listen to me.” One of Four’s pupils is dialated slightly, but the other is full blown mydriatic. Not good. He needs to act fast. 

“What do y- awns- wan- que- t?”    
  


“Shh.” He gets up, and Four makes to follow, but his left leg won’t move when his right does. “Don’t move! Stay here!” 

He bolts to the other side of camps, where the bags are stored, but he doesn't see his pack. “Legend! Where’s my pack?” 

“You’re kinda acting like Legend, ‘bout your stuff.” Warriors says from where he’s re-arranging firewood. 

“I don’t know? Maybe it's by the stump.” Legend says nonchalantly, drawing figures in the dirt with a stick. 

“Guys I need my pack! I think Four’s having a stroke!” He violently points to Four, who’s struggling to get off the ground. His whole left side is a stubborn, dead weight. 

“ Apologi- no! Vio!- Its a avl- rude!- question!” Four yells to no one in particular.

“Oh fuck, you’re right.” Legend says. “I hid your shit. Thought it’d be funny. It's in that rose bush, right there. About a foot in.” 

Hyrule  _ glares _ at Legend before bolting off in the aforementioned direction. 

“ITS RU- YOU - CAN’T- KNO- DICTATE EVERYTHING!” 

His knees burn as he skids along the ground, coming to a full stop at the edge of the bush. That was the most coherent sentence Four’s said yet, but it was still nonsense. He yanks the bag out of the rosebush fast enough to cut skin and burlap. Potions clatter as bottles roll over upturned earth. Where’s the orange one? Where’s the orange one? Where’s the- there! 

He’s back on his feet in a second, rushing to the confused and seemingly irate Four.

“Get down.” He commands. A second later Four’s left side starts acting up, refusing to stay on the ground. 

“I said get down!” With the golden power pulsing through him, he has enough strength to push Four to the ground and hold the uncorked bottle to his mouth. “Drink.”

He pours the potion, little by little, into the right side of Four’s mouth, which seems to be taking the medication well. Four chokes on its contents for a second, before taking the rest of the bottle relatively smoothly. His movements start to slow down.

“Why?” Four says, exhausted. 

Hyrule is confused. Why what?

“Zelda...The letter...The fae.” Four responds to himself.

“We all...have secrets, Vio.”   
  


“I know...brother…”

The sedative part of the potion kicks in at his last word, Irises fading into a muddy brown similar to his own. His eyes finally close, and Hyrule thinks that perhaps, that wasn’t a stroke.

Secrets, indeed.

\---

“And after that?” 

“Well after that, I sedated him and gave him an anticoagulant. Hopefully he’ll be better by mid-morning with the help of potions.” 

“Do you think we should be worried?”

“About the stroke? I don’t think so. Pass the salt.”

“Here you are.”

The Links continue to eat in silence for a while. The fire gives off a particularly loud crack, and a log breaks in half, succumbing to the ash.

“Actually, I think it was the flowers that caused it.” Hyrule says, breaking the silence. “So there's no need to worry, unless he eats some more.”

It was a lie, Legend knew. A lie from the most unsubtle, worst-at-lying kid he knew, and it was  _ convincing _ . Roses were perfectly edible, and allergies don’t cause strokes. So then…

What was Hyrule’s motive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so late, I tried to write more to compensate. 
> 
> Also, this went WAY off my outline guidelines. Honestly, I'm learning as I go. But I do have a plan, and yes, Wild will be back! But yall know me, I can't resist adding the rest of my boys.
> 
> Comment abt any errors I make. This was written crazy fast.


	4. steady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS I AM SO BUSY!!!!!!!!
> 
> and i know everyone is blowing the coronavirus out of proportion, but its really affecting me. Not to mention the collab I have is teetering on instability and ive got ANOTHER fic to write all by myself before the 17th. 
> 
> Im sorry I couldn't deliver the 3000 words I promised, and to those of you that were at the live write, im sorry that ive got no new content for yall
> 
> please accept this mini chapter, and I promise that I will deliver higher quality stuff in the future.

When Wild awoke, he felt nothing. So much nothing, in fact, that he felt it all: The crisp lavender of the sheets was present, yet the scent never registered on the walls of his nose. The paintings on the wall were both a vivid and monochrome tan, vision fuzzy in a room that was simultaneously light and dark, and not there at all. Pale fingers slid over silk burlap sheets, bandaged in naked skin.

He breathed air and water in collapsed lungs.

Wild lingered in bed, consumed with the thought that he was dead, and this was an unfeeling, torturous hellscape for failed heroes and miserable friends.

Then Hylia opened the door.

She, existing gracefully on the first floor, did not have watch over him. And he, speaking and not speaking at the same time, choked on words, soundlessly. 

“Yes?— no. I did. I’m at home now.” There is a pause, or maybe there isn't. “Well as long as she knows. — Yes, I’m fine. — Yes, I will call her later.” 

There is a low, babbling drone, that resounds over the clinking of ceramic and booming of cabinet drawers, thrown open carelessly. “Well, I could use some more silent tea.”

After a beat “And monster extract.” is added, before adieus are bid on either end, and a flat toneless noise rings out. One. Two. Three. 

The clinking resumes in fervor, and at this point Wild is fully aware of his whereabouts, reflecting on whatever he can remember to discern how he got here. His senses are his again, and now he can think.

The sound of pouring water. The dull, loud struggle of heavy metal. The three toned chime of the backup slate.

“Zelda!”

“ _ Purah!  _ Not so loud. You’ll wake Link up.”

“What?”

“I have you on speakerphone, and you need to be considerate.” She huffs. Without so much as a glance at her, he can visualize the way her chest puffs out, a proud and stubborn rito chick with the fluffy hair to match. “I’m cooking, so I can't have you to my ear. You're on the counter. Speak  _ quietly _ .”

“My bad, princess!” Purah says, only somewhat loud. “Anyways, why’d you call? Link up already?” 

Ever curious, Link peers over the rail of his loft, taking a glimpse at the chaos below.

“No, he’s not, but he should be soon...”

“Well, if you don’t have anything to say about Link, then you’ve got to hear about what Sasan’s got planned after the big day. Did you hear that he’s  _ still _ out in th…”

Zelda stands on a stool in the cluttered kitchen, moving teapots and little pink fairy cups from their hiding spots atop the cabinet onto the table, which stood decorated in tea bags and tall containers of rice and other “edibles”. She flits about the room, inspecting boiling vats of what Link can  _ assume  _ to be her cooking, before nodding in approval. 

She grabs a broom. 

“... and now he’s out again! Can you believe it Zelda? Two days in his hometown and he’s already wasted both!” 

“Uh- huh.” Zelda nods along, as if she followed along with Purah’s word babble. 

“And she said that —”

“Purah.” Zelda cuts in, broom’s bristles stamped and splayed on the ground. “I know that Sasan is out. I sent him out —and he told me to call you, because he needs  _ you _ to tell Finley that she needs to be  _ here _ at sunset.” 

“Why sunset, again?”

“That is when Link will get up.” She states matter of factly, bending over in her commoners cloth dress to sweep up dust that gathered under chairs. 

“I thought you said Link would get up soon?”

“I did.” Zelda pinches the bridge of her nose. “Purah, it’s four in the afternoon. What have you been doing?” 

“It’s four already!?” The sound of shifting wood and tossed objects is heard from the receiver. “shit.” Purah mumbles faintly, before giving off a “Zelda, I’m sorry I have to go. I’ll get Fin down at six-thirty at the latest, goodbye!” and hanging up. 

The dull, thrice beeped noise echoes in the house, before it is replaced by the gentle *swish* *swish* of a woven broom. Zelda turns towards his staircase, and Link tenses under the covers like a child caught up past his bedtime, but Zelda does not take the stairs to the loft. Humming a lost lullaby, foreign to all ears but her own, she lifts the the wooden hatch under the staircase down to the basement, and fades out of reach. 

He sits there, questions unanswered, for about a minute and a half, before the teapot on the stove comes to an ear piercing whistle, halting any and all train of thought. He kicks off the covers with his legs, hands firm over his sensitive hylian ears, and steps out of bed. Inactive blood that pooled in his feet prickled when he touched the floor, rushing up the leg and giving himself a new energy. He crosses his desk, doodles and city plans splayed on blue bolson brand cardstock, before jumping down the steps three at a time. He bounds across the newly swept floor and takes the lid off the pot, silence resuming. 

“Hello?” 

Wild turns around with a soft smile, garnishing the countertops with the various lids of stove-lit pots. “Do you need help cooking?” He lightly laughs, before falling into a soft coughing fit.

Zelda rushes by his side and pelts him with questions, guiding him to a chair to sit. “Why are you up? Are you feeling alright? What do you remember?” She puts her hands on his cheeks, caressing long, golden strands of hair, like precious stems of satori spirit-lily that might shrivel if left unattended for even a moment. In a way, he was like that delicate shining flower, leeching off the life of others and biding his time until the next surgeon or potion seller wandered into Hateno to water his proverbial garden. 

“I’m fine, Zelda.”

“Where are the others? Your traveling partners.” 

“You want to meet them that badly?” A cough escapes his throat, weakly, and Zelda looks down at him with a motherly, disapproving look.

“You know what I mean.” 

Wild averts his eyes, staring at the floor as one does when called out. Gently, he takes her hands in his, and pries them off his face. He then grabs an amethyst carrot, and tells Zelda to “chop this up for me.” before hefting a pot on his hip and leaving for the door. 

“No offense, but this doesn't look edible. We want to make a good impression on our guests, right?” He swivels on his heel and opens the door, but Zelda is right there to stop him. 

“You avoided my question.” 

He worms his way past her, brushing against her shoulders rather roughly. “I need to dump this rue out.”

“I didn’t tell you we would be having guests.”

“I _ inferred _ .” Wild leans in close, teeth clenched and fists white. He didn’t mean to be quick to anger, but something in his mind made it so easy to lash out. 

Zelda shrinks back, and Wild realizes his mistake. “Zelda? Zelda I’m so—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Her tone is harsh, but her face is kind. “I get it. You’re stressed— You’ve got your home duties, your hero duties, and your own problems to deal with.”

They make eye contact, and Wild can see her majesty— Hylia on earth, again. She caresses his jaw, “Believe me when I say I know what it’s like.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Wild and Zelda both startle, the pot clunking to the ground and rue splashing over the bottom of Zelda’s dress. Normally, he would check to see if she was okay— but he couldn’t move. Slowly, stiffly, his head tilts up. His body shivers in the sun, and his left buckles as his kneecap slides freely among cartilage. He nosedives,and when he hits the ground, all he can do is hiss through his teeth, as his spine starts to contort, and his thoughts start to seize.

“Link? Link, oh my Hylia!” Spots dance around his iris, and his left eye flutters rapidly, as if caffeinated. His fingers force themselves into the carefully tended grass, wedging stones that he can't feel, underneath his fingernails. Sensation fades from his extremities and blood coagulates thickly in his neck, where he chokes on nothing at all because he can't breathe. 

He can't breathe, HE CAN'T BREATHE!

Wild claws at the ground in a frenzy, as if the cure for jcd was buried with the sins of old hyrule, and he had to dig that up too. His stomach lurches painfully to the side, and Wild can faintly feel something dribble from the corner of his mouth.

_ It's no use. _

He isn't going to panic anymore, because a life lived in fear is no life he wants to live. He's had a good run, he supposes. Made some friends, saved the kingdom. If only he could've gotten married too…

He lets go, and the world grows fuzzy and his arms tense up and he can't feel his legs and he can faintly hear someone screaming and it's no use anymore and— 

then his breathing hitches, and his world starts to clear.

As soon as the attack starts, it stops, and Wild’s body relaxes. His palms unfurl, and clumps of earth roll away.

“Link? Link, are you okay?” Before he can register it, he is already on his feet, and in the house. Zelda guides him to sit in the same chair. His breathing hitches again, and Wild has to concentrate on breathing in a wet gasp of air. He realizes that he is crying.

“Dude? That… you…” Sasan stands by the door, almost cowering. “You alright?” He settles for, and Wild shakilly nods, tears rolling down his face in fat droplets.

“Does it hurt?” Zelda asks him, and he has to concentrate on his answer. Does it hurt? What is “it”? His fingers lie numb at his sides, blood pooling in his lowest points as his heart beats sluggishly on. “Yeah.” because it does.

“Oh. Your leg…” Pity drips from Zelda’s lips as she bends down to treat wounds that wouldn’t even faze a child.

“I’ll get first aid.” Sasan finds an excuse to leave, and does. He can’t even bring himself to feel angry.

When Zelda is done fussing over him and he starts to perceive with clarity, they work in silence for a while. He doesn’t know when he stood up to retrieve the cooking pot, but suddenly there he was— arm deep in dishes with the goddess incarnate.

Three knocks sound out in a staccato rhythm at the door, before a low bass resounds “We’re here!” and a high soprano adds “Let us in!”

Zelda leaves Wild to open the door, welcoming Finley, Purah ,and Sasan into their home. From the corner of his eye he can see Sasan hand something to Zelda— probably the silent tea and monster extract— and in return Zelda slyly slides something into Sasan’s cupped hands. They converse long enough to ease the rest of Wild’s troubled mind, and soon dinner is done. 

“Does everyone want to take a seat?” Wild calls out to the cheerful group, and Finley makes a beeline to the side of the table. 

“My Love! Come sit next to me!” 

As Finley stands next to the table, Wild sees just how tall she’s grown in the short span of time he was gone. He wonders if he’ll ever get to see her, fully grown.

“Coming, Darling!” He takes her hand in his, and they smile at each other— radiating happiness and hope for the future. Wild dishes rice and stir fry in small porcelain bowls, and takes them up on his arm. 

“Meat and rice stir fry, coming right—”

His jaw locks, and that’s all the warning he gets before his legs bring him crashing down on top of fine china and splintering chopsticks. 

He can hear the screaming.

He can feel the stinging.

But he just can’t bring himself to care.

Someone moves him onto his back, and his eyes roll shut at the action.   
  
“Link! Link, can you hear us?” 

_ I can. I’m fine, guys. _

“He’s not responding…”

“Well what do we do?”

“I uh, we could…” 

He can feel something shift against his arms and upper torso, before a soothing cold envelops him from the midriff upwards. 

_ Zelda, put my shirt back on— now's not the time. _

Overhead, he can hear them mutter excitedly, nervous words exchanging between the two parties. Despite having his eyes closed, he feels as if the room is spinning. There is a fizzling, a cracking, a burning sensation in the air— hovering threateningly above his still form.

“Is this safe?”

“I sure to Hylia hope so. Everyone, stand back!”

_ What?! _

*Zztttt-*

“CLEAR!”


End file.
